


Maid Service

by Jade_Waters



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Q in a dress, Smut, french maid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Waters/pseuds/Jade_Waters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond's expecting a visitor, but he's more than a bit surprised at who shows up, and what he's wearing.</p>
<p>Iron-Rion drew this absolutely lovely piece of art and I had to write something for it. http://iron-rion.tumblr.com/post/143276220599/bonds-maid<br/>(All of Iron-Rion's art is gorgeous - definitely check it out).</p>
<p>This is my first 00Q fic. Please enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maid Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ironrion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironrion/gifts).



“Housekeeping,” a voice calls through the door, accompanied by a sharp knock.

_ Right on schedule, _ Bond thinks as he walks to the door. He’s more than a bit surprised, however, at what - or rather who - he sees through the peephole. Q, in the flesh, is standing there in the hotel staff’s uniform: a full French maid’s outfit, including cap and choker and, “Oh my,” Bond mutters as his gaze wanders down Q’s stockinged legs.

He opens the door and says, as carelessly as possible, “I could use some fresh towels, thanks.” Once Q’s inside, he closes the door and, with only a hint of teasing, says, “I thought you could only find such pretty maids in Paris.” 

Q only glares a little, “Don’t be an arse. This was the most convenient disguise available on such short notice. Maybe if you’d given me a little more warning, I wouldn’t be in a damn dress right now.”

Bond smirks, “But you wear it so well.”

“Here are your towels,” Q says, ignoring Bond. He sets the pile on the desk, lifting up the top one to show Bond the flash drive and replacement earwig he had to deliver. “That  _ should  _ be everything you need for the rest of your stay, assuming you’re not as wasteful as you have been so far.”

“I can probably manage,” Bond answers. Q walks over to the bedside table to retrieve the damaged earwig before 007 can lose it entirely. Admiring the view, Bond adds, “Although if breaking things means you showing up dressed like this, that hardly discourages me.”

Q’s about to snark as he turns around, but his mouth clicks shut in a grimace, his weight shifts onto his left leg as he shoots his right a rather betrayed look. 

Bond raises his eyebrows, “Not used to walking in heels, Quartermaster?”

A proper glare this time, “Indeed not.”

“Feet getting blisters already?”

Q looks away, annoyed, but confesses, “Calves - between the hills in this city and these damn shoes, they’re all cramped up.”

Bond smiles as he sits on the edge of his bed. “Come here. I think I might be able to help you out with that.”

Q is wary, but sits and lets Bond pull his legs up across his own. Being a maid has worked well so far this morning - it turns out nobody pays hotel staff much attention, even when they are dressed like they belong in low-budget porn - but his legs really do hurt and he’s fairly sure limping about the hotel will blow his cover entirely. “That’s it,” Bond encourages, “Now let’s see if we can fix you up.” His hands don’t wander, but wrap firmly around one calf. Bond presses his fingers into the muscle, digs deep. At Q’s hiss of pain, he murmurs, “Breathe, Q, you’ve got to relax a bit or this won’t do any good.” The Quartermaster listens, doing his best to breathe deep, steady breaths as Bond massages first one calf, and then the other. Q isn’t about to say so, but it really feels quite marvelous after the initial pain subsides. 

Then, with absolutely no warning at all, Bond tugs Q closer, pulls one leg up over his shoulder. Q yelps as his thighs press into Bond’s legs, then blushes nearly scarlet as Bond trails his fingers gently down the now-lifted leg. 

“What -” Q starts, his eyes jumping from Bond’s hand to his now quite seductive gaze. “ _ 007 _ \- we are  _ working! _ ” 

Bond chuckles, low and warm. “Yes, but this is the most fun part of field work.”

Q can’t quite stop his eyes from scanning the room. Bond slides his other hand up to just behind the knee across his lap before he slides it back down to play at Q’s shoe strap. “There’s no surveillance in here.” He reaches over to pluck Q’s earwig out and switch it off. “And now there are no comms, unless you’re wearing a wire, that is.”

Q scoffs at the idea that he’d ever use tech so antiquated that it relied on  _ wires _ . Bond smirks. His hands are warm and his eyes entirely too playful. “Still,” Q resists, “we are on a schedule.”

“Mmm, indeed we are. When’s your next check-in?” Bond asks, as casually as if Q were across the room instead of nearly in his lap.

“1100 hours, but you’re due to meet our contact at the cafe at 1030. That’s -”

“Plenty of time,” Bond finishes. Q still looks flustered, but he hasn’t pulled away and his legs have relaxed under his hands again. “It’s just a bit of fun, Q, no need to overthink it. Like that time you let me play with the old exploding pens in the ballistics lab.”

“This is not exactly the same thing,” Q answers, but the memory’s got him smiling too, just a little, like he can’t quite help it.

Bond presses a very soft kiss just behind Q’s ankle, his eyes never leaving Q’s face. “You’ve been hiding these gorgeous legs from me all this time.”

Q’s breath stutters a bit before he pulls himself together, “Flatterer.”

Bond’s smile widens, “Not at all,” he kisses again, a bit firmer. “Besides, I think I owe you a thank you or two.”

“For what?” Q asks. 

“Oh, for handling this mission even though I know you hate planes. For  _ not _ giving me a squirt gun even when you really want to. For saving my life so many times even when I’m being a stubborn old bastard.” He says it quietly, letting Q see that he means it.

Q blinks. He thinks,  _ I’m just doing my job _ , but then he smirks. “Well,” he says, mischief in his eyes, “It’s about time you showed some gratitude.”

Bond laughs, then lets one hand wander up Q’s skirt. His fingers meet briefs and he tsks, “Now, this just won’t do, not proper attire at all,” but he is teasing, “These will simply have to go.”

“I am definitely not taking all this off just for you - it was far too much work getting into it the first time.”

“Who said anything about taking the rest of it off? I wouldn’t dream of it.” And he means that, too. Q’s perfect like this. “No, just the briefs, I think.” He hooks two fingers around the waist band and far too gracefully slips them off and tosses them God knows where. He runs both hands all the way up Q’s skirt to cup his arse, humming approval. “That’s better.”

Q rolls his eyes but his cheeks are pink. “This whole outfit is ridiculous,” he mutters.

It probably is, in an objective sense, Bond thinks, but Q’s managed to hit far too many of his buttons at once for him to give a damn about objectivity. “Here,” he says, and slips to his knees as he turns Q to face off the bed. “Keep your legs up, if you don’t mind,” he requests as he sets a foot on one shoulder and Q’s knee over his other.  

Q’s tipped back but holding himself up, unwilling to let Bond out of his sight (smart). A little breathy and a lot disbelieving, he says, “You’re not serious.” 

“I did say this was a thank you,” Bond quips before he begins to tease in earnest. His hands slide up again, calloused fingers pressing into thighs. He kisses the inside of Q’s knee. “Mmm, just like my first time at Eton.”

Q laughs, “Well, not exactly like that.” Bond huffs against his skin, presses in another kiss, drags his teeth a little. “And hopefully you don’t get caught this time.” Bond laughs then too, and bites, gently but enough to make Q’s breath catch.

“I have learned a few things since then.” He pulls back enough to kiss Q’s calves, to enjoy the ticklish twitch when he kisses under a knee. His hot mouth leaves cool wet spots along Q’s stockings as he trails up to mid-thigh, then noses gently at the line where nylon meets bare skin. “Lovely,” he says.

Q snorts, but his words come out strained, “ _ You _ are ridiculous. Quit teasing.” He feels the smile against his leg.

Bond pushes the skirt up a bit more, wraps his arms under Q’s thighs and tugs him forward a tad, tilts him back a little more. Q’s legs drop open of their own accord. Bond hums his approval again at the sight of Q’s hard cock resting against his hip. He leans in close, kisses the hollow at the very top of his thigh, just where it meets his hip, kisses harder when Q pushes up. He breathes in deep, lets the smell of Q and sex fill his lungs. Such a delightful, unexpected opportunity. As he lingers just shy of Q’s cock, Q’s legs push at his back, tug him closer, and he demands, “Come on.”

“The Quartermaster gets what the Quartermaster wants,” Bond laughs, and then swallows the man down as far as he can go. Q’s head falls back and he lets out a sound somewhere between a shout and a moan, one of his hands finds Bond’s head, long thin fingers somehow finding enough hair to hold on to.

Bond sucks hard, swirls his tongue a few times before letting go with a filthy  _ pop _ . Q looks down at him, and Bond grins because the only possible word for the younger man right now is  _ debauched. _ His glasses are crooked, a fine sheen of sweat’s shining on his flushed skin, his hair’s somehow more of a mess than usual. His pupils are blown wide and his lips are parted as he breathes too fast. He looks about to complain until one of Bond’s hands replaces his mouth, stroking him slowly but firmly. Bond’s other hand plays idly along Q’s hips and the inside of one thigh. Bond watches sensation flicker across Q’s face for a moment before he dips back down again, mouthing at the base of Q’s cock, licking a hot, wet line up to the head. As he slips his mouth around Q again, his hand slides down to gently massage Q’s balls. The Quartermaster’s hips jerk at the new feeling, but Bond rides the thrust, presses his other hand flat against Q’s stomach. 

Bond is careful and thorough, taking his time to explore what each new motion does to his Quartermaster’s breathing. Q’s done his best to be quiet, to keep his secrets to himself, but when Bond hums low and hungry with Q down his throat, he can’t stop the whine that escapes him. His fingers twist in Bond’s hair, his legs clench tight over his shoulders. “Bond,” he gasps, “please.” 

He pulls back again, hand replacing mouth as he looks up. Q’s eyes are as desperate as he’s ever seen them and he’s panting now, and Bond is forced to admit he’s not unaffected by the sight. He thinks he might even enjoy this without the skirt and ruffles, with just Q in his mismatched patterns and then in nothing, with a long afternoon and no one to bother them. 

Bond blinks. He knows his own eyes are as dark with lust as Q’s, knows his lips are swollen red from sucking Q’s cock. He smirks, then answers the question in Q’s eyes, “Come on, then, I want to taste all of you. Give it to me.” And then he’s going down one last time, sucking Q hard and fast, any hint of teasing gone. It doesn’t take long, like that, before Q is gasping, arching, heels pressing into Bond’s back, whole body tensing as he comes in Bond’s mouth. Bond swallows it all, licks gently until Q is clean and soft again. 

He kisses the inside of each thigh before leaning back. His smile is satisfied as he nuzzles at Q’s legs before releasing them. Q’s laid out flat on the bed, legs dangling as he catches his breath. Bond eases his weight off his knees, mindful for once of his age, and slides onto the bed beside Q, head up on his hand so he can watch Q’s face as he comes back to himself. When those green eyes open again, Bond smiles at him, and is pleased when Q smiles back, unguarded. “Does fun live up to its name?” Bond asks.

Q smirks, “I think I might be able to see why people like it.”

Bond huffs a laugh, then rolls up and finds the room’s full length mirror to set himself to rights again. He wouldn’t want to be late for his meeting, after all. Q sits up at last, and Bond finds Q’s briefs on the floor and kindly returns them. He moves in to place a kiss on Q’s lips. It’s closed-mouth and quick, but Q still looks surprised when he backs up again. “Alright?” Bond asks.

“Yes, I - “ Q pauses. “What about you?”

“Ah,” Bond says. The idea of Q reciprocating flickers through his mind and he smiles, “I’ve got about 15 minutes to do my homework before class, I’m afraid.” He shows Q the flash drive with the intel he was kind enough to bring. Q’s eyes go wide as he looks at the time, but Bond sneaks another kiss to stop him jumping up. “But if you’d like to say ‘you’re welcome’ later, I’d be more than happy to listen. Or, if you prefer, I’m sure there are more things I could say thank you for.”

Q laughs, “You’re awful.” He puts his pants back on and follows Bond’s example of checking himself over in the mirror. 

Bond gives him a smile and winks as he diligently boots up his laptop and plugs in the drive. Q grabs old towels out of the bathroom and tucks his earwig back in his ear and the old earwig in his pocket as he prepares to leave. He heads to the door, but then pauses and looks back. Bond’s perfectly studious now, leaning over the screen, reading the intel as quickly as possible. Q walks back over and leans down to place a soft kiss against his temple. Bond turns curious blue eyes up to find Q giving him a look that is entirely too fond as he says, “Good luck, 007. Do  _ try _ to bring your equipment back in one piece.”

Bond laughs as Q heads out the door. “I’ll do my best, Quartermaster.”


End file.
